


The Silence of the Wolf

by Pernilla_Writes



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Kaer Morhen, Mild Gore, Scenting, Trial Of The Grasses (The Witcher), Trials, young Witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27088408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pernilla_Writes/pseuds/Pernilla_Writes
Summary: After the second trial something’s different about Geralt, it’s not just the white hair and scary fangs.He doesn’t speak anymore.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 106





	The Silence of the Wolf

There wasn’t an exact moment when Geralt had woken up, his unconsciousness had been restless and painful, it wasn’t like the sleep he was used to getting after a hard day of training, it was more akin to- confusion.

His blood wasn’t liquid lead anymore, but his head felt like someone had stuffed dry cotton up his nose with a stick. He slowly sat up, each movement painful and slow.

He was still in the trial room, it reeked of blood and sick and shit- but worse than usual, like the foul stuff had been smeared inside his nostrils. Everything was painfully bright and noisy, his eyes trailed a spider that was crawling on the wall, and finally he saw the corpses.

They were piled against the stone, lifeless and pale, dark lines stained their skin and bile mixed with blood and pus oozed from their lips.

“What-“

The mage’s voice caught him off-guard, the man was standing at the entrance of the room, looking at him in confusion.

“That’s impossible.” He said, hurrying to Geralt’s side and looking over his body, testing his reflexes and pinching him, Geralt flinched, remembering the man’s hands as they injected him full of poison.

“This is unprecedented. What’s your name, boy?” He asked, finally looking up.

“I’m Geralt, sir.” He said, his voice a little raspy from all the screaming, he really wanted to drink some water but his stomach still felt bloated and painful against his abdomen.

“Geralt...” the man said, absentmindedly, as he conjured quill and paper and began writing furiously. Geralt looked around himself, taking in the rest of the room, and trying to ignore the familiar corpses. If he ignored it he could pretend they just went away, moved far. He didn’t want to identify his dead friends, so he took stock of those still on the tables beside him.

He recognised Gweld, Atro, Perci, Davy and Eskel, all of them looked more dead than alive, he didn’t feel much differently.

Only six of them left.

He was startled back to reality as the mage let out a breathless, excited laugh, like he had heard some of the older Witchers make after a particularly lucky dice roll.

“This recovery time is incredible... you stay here a moment, I’ll call my assistant.” He didn’t even look up from his notes as he exited the room, leaving Geralt in the silence of corpses.

Geralt came of find out later that he had set a precedent for fastest recovery from the trial of grasses, he had apparently only been unconscious for only about six hours.

The others weren’t as fast, Atro and Davy had woken two days later, Gweld took another twelve hours, then Eskel and Perci.

There weren’t many mirrors in Kaer Morhen, but one could use metal shields and polished swords to get an idea of their appearance, Geralt had always wanted the cat eyes that distinguished a Witcher, he had always wanted to be part of the pack, he expected it to feel more exciting, but it ended up just being annoying.

Everything was loud, everything stank, and it was way too easy to get distracted. Not to mention-

Well, he had noticed an increase in aggressiveness, they had been taken to a separate part of the keep, with new teachers, and the group of six trained and lived together, sharing meals and room.

It didn’t take long for the fights to start, he was startled the first time that he growled, as Perci tried to take some food off his plate his new instincts had taken over, forcing him to bare his fangs and release an animalistic sound out of his throat, of course Perci retaliated and soon enough they were fighting on the ground, biting and scratching, forgetting any training they had received in hand to hand combat.

That wasn’t the last fight, Geralt tried to steer clear of them, but it was hard, his body acted without his permission, and he felt powerless to do anything about it.

It was late at night, winter cold, when Eskel shifted closer to him in the massive pile they all slept on.

“You’re still awake.” He whispered, looking at him in the dark, his eyes reflecting the little moonlight that cane from the window.

“You too.” He said, and Eskel hugged at him as he got closer, causing Davy to snort in protest.

“I found out something cool today.” Eskel said, excitement creeping in his voice, he considered Geralt his closest friend, and Geralt returned the favour, they had always been attached to the hip since Eskel had arrived in the keep.

“Listen to this.” He said, pushing Geralt’s eat against his chest.

It started vibrating, deep and relaxing, like the time Geralt had gotten to take a warm bath after having pulled a muscle in his back, he felt his body melt just like that time, the warmth coming from the body beside his, before he knew it he was purring too.

It wasn’t too long after that when it happened.

They were all practicing with their new fencing instructor as the mage’s assistant walked towards them.

“Master Vesemir, I’m here to take Geralt, Atro and Davy to the mage.” He said, looking strangely cheerful, the sword master furrowed his brow.

“We are in the middle of training-“ “This cannot wait.” The assistant interrupted. “We’re using rare ingredient that will be useless in very little time, we need them now.”

Master Vesemir seemed to pale.

“You mean-“ he closed his eyes and nodded. “Very well. Geralt, Davy, Atro. Follow master Petar.”

The three kids were motionless for a moment, their minds catching up to the words they had just heard.

“Ingredients...?” It was Atro that spoke first, his voice shaky and unsure, the assistant nodded.

“You boys have been selected for additional trials. Now follow me, we must haste.” He turned his back on them, expecting to be followed, numbly Davy and Atro did, leaving their practice swords and Geralt behind.

Vesemir turned to the kid, the one he himself had taken in, and walked up to him, gently putting a hand on his back and pushing him forward.

“You have to go.” The old Witcher said, looking grim, Geralt looked up at him.

“Please don’t let them take me.”

Vesemir’s face twisted for a moment, but Geralt couldn’t care, he felt his chest tighten and his breath coming in short and painful.

“I can’t do that again! Please- I’ll do anything, I’ll- please-“

There were tears in his eyes, he could feel them stinging as they ran down his cheeks, his voice was breaking, begging, he couldn’t go trough the trial again.

“I’m sorry.” Vesemir made a sign with his hand and the fear went away. Geralt followed the others because that’a what he had to do, he laid onto the old table and got strapped in, he could now smell the pain that had soaked trough the wood in all the years it had been used, and then the sense of calmness left, the terror took him again, and he couldn’t escape.

When he woke up again he wasn’t in the trial room, he knew that because of the scent, the place reeked of magic- but he couldn’t see yet, the pain was blinding, his body screamed and he couldn’t move, yet he was uncomfortable, and something told him he would be in any position. His thoughts were fuzzy and confused, he thought he had heard Master Vesemir scream, and Master Varin look over him, the mage walking around and prodding him, drawing blood, taking notes.

He wasn’t sure how long it took for him to understand what was going on, where he was, to remember what had happened.

He shot up, his stomach revolted at the movement and he threw up on himself, bloody chunky liquid, full of clots and tissue, he felt himself shiver, he was sweating and his eyes burned, each time he tried to open them they fell back shut against his will.

“ _ ~~Help~~_ -“

He flinched at the sound of his own voice, at the scrape in his throat, the sensation closer to growling than speaking. He stopped and ran his tongue over his teeth, new ones, just like after the first trial, but not teeth anymore- fangs. They were pointed, sharp enough to feel like needles against his lips, he looked down at his hands, his nails were tick and dark, growing under his old human ones.

He wasn’t even close to human anymore.

Later he noticed more changes, his hair was growing in white, his body was bigger, he was taller and couldn’t keep weight on. The mage kept him in a separate room for months to keep an eye on him, he was apparently the only one that had survived the additional trial.

The masters visited his room to teach him, one on one lessons, Vesemir was never able to meet his eyes.

One day he had picked up a silver dagger and immediately dropped it- his palm burning in pain, master Varin looking at him in disgust, he knew he was a monster.

“Now, boy.” The mage said as he rifled trough the venoms he was administering Geralt, they had run out of poison after the third month, and picked out a flask.

“I know this second trial has been hard on your body, you’re recovering splendidly, aside the small problems with your fast metabolism and digestion, but I need to know that you haven’t been mentally damaged.” He said, filling up the syringe and looking at Geralt.

“You haven’t spoken yet. Now, I know you understand what is said to you, and I know your vocal cords work, you do scream at night.” He chuckles as if he had made a joke. “But you still won’t communicate with anyone. This would be a serious impediment in the path.” He finished, administering the venom.

“So, this is the last of the venoms, tomorrow you’ll be able to join the other trainees again. I expect you to be on your best behaviour and to speak again within the week.” He warned. Geralt didn’t need to be told that there would be consequences if he stayed silent.

Speaking- it felt like an impossible effort, at first he would feel the deep, ugly vibration in his throat as he was starting to make a sound and just stop, scared of what those sounds meant. Eventually even only getting to the point of starting to produce the sound became a feat. He would suffer through experiments and beatings and screams without opening his lips, without air coming to his lips.

He couldn’t help the screaming during the night, he often woke himself up, the sound of his shouts so close to those of monsters that the first time it happened two Witchers came in the room, silver drawn, to check what had made the noise. Eventually they learnt to differentiate his scream and those of the beasts they hunted, Geralt was sure it hadn’t been easy.

Returning to the room he shared with the others had been weird, it was empty, Eskel, Gweld and Perci still training for the day. He walked over the mass of blankets and pillows they used as bedding, kneeling beside them and taking in the scents of his friends. He had missed them.

He still had to burn trough some of the venom he had been administered, so he decided to wrap himself in blankets, just for a while, and wait the chills that ran down his body out. He fell into a kind of daze, not unlike meditation, he was aware of his surroundings, just uninterested in moving the slightest bit.

He did not startle as the others came back to the room, he had heard them, smelled them, way before they even got close to the door.

The first in was Gweld, and he abruptly stood still as Eskel crashed into his back.

“What- wait, Geralt?” Gweld murmured, his pupils dilating to take in more light, to understand the scene before him better.

The person slowly sitting up in bed smelled like their friend- or similar anyway, with a touch of something they had only tasted while tracking monsters in the woods, his face was similar, but sharper. His body was bigger than theirs and decidedly broader than their always-too-thin friend had been.

But the most striking feature were his hair, cropped short, straight and white. Nothing remained of the red-brown curls that once marked him.

Geralt tried to make himself small, the other’s gaze burned on his white skin, Eskel and Perci had entered, both looking at him in shock.

“We thought you had died.” Perci said in astonishment, Eskel elbowed him with a snarl and moved to crouch beside Geralt, holding him close and taking in his scent, unfamiliar and yet still his.

Geralt closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the other’s body, his face pushing against Eskel’s chest and burying himself there.

“It’s been so long- we thought... what about Davy and Atro? Are they coming back?” Eskel asked without letting go of his friend, chest resonating with each word. Geralt looked up and shook his head, not a sound escaping his lips, the other three boys grimaced.

“Well, you’re back, that’s good.” Eskel said “we’ll go down for dinner and then go to sleep. Everything will be alright.”

Geralt watched as Eskel and the others changed out of their training clothes and into fresh garments for dinner, they all went down the huge staircase together, Geralt always by Eskel’s side.

Everyone was looking at Geralt and his white hair, the boy refused to open his mouth, dinner left untouched.

“Geralt, I see you’re getting reacquainted with your friends.” The mage’s voice made all the young Witchers turn immediately, it made them shiver. “Boys, make sure to encourage him to speak, he seems to have developed a form of mutism, we can’t have that in our most advanced subject, can we?” His smile was unpleasant, no one at the table answered.

“Oh, before I forget. Eat, Geralt, you have to eat even more than your companions... I’ll have the kitchens make you extra portions, that should help.” He nodded to himself before leaving for the high table where the masters were seated.

“I fucking hate him.” Perci growled, Gweld just nodded. They all relaxed the further the man walked from the table.

“What does he mean Geralt...?” Eskel was not stupid, he had noticed that the usually chatty and friendly Geralt was silent and sullen, he hadn’t thought too much of it, he wouldn’t know his own reaction to being put trough the trials again, the only thought of it made him feel sick- so Geralt not speaking hadn’t been a big deal, but... it had been six months since the second trial.

Geralt ignored him and instead started eating, his eyes darting from and to his plate, Eskel followed his line of sight and saw the mage staring at them. He turned back to Geralt and, while he was trying to eat as demurely as possible, he could still see the flash of fangs beneath his lips.

Days passed without anything happening, each morning during training Geralt proved himself stronger, more agile and faster than any of them, managing even to disarm master Vesemir during sparring. Each night the mage would come to their table and enquire about Geralt, his training, his voice. No one answered him, and it seemed that was enough for him.

It had almost been a week when Geralt and Eskel had gotten their turn in the bath. They fell back into routine quickly, hauling water and lathering soap, the only difference was the eerie silence in the room.

“Geralt, what happened? Why don’t you speak?” He found the courage to ask, looking into the other’s eyes.

Geralt looked away, Eskel’s eyes so similar to his own- he trusted the other with everything, they had always been the closest of friends and yet he couldn’t bring himself to speak. And the mage would ask again and if he found out about Geralt’s continued silence-

“You don’t have to answer now. I just wanted to ask.” Eskel was quick to add, he looked away and finished his bath, leaving the room in a hate to avoid the awkwardness he had created.

That night the mage visited their table again.

“So, has Geralt graced anyone with his voice yet or-“

He didn’t get to finish the phrase.

“He talked to me.” Eskel said, the mage turned towards him.

“He said his throat hurts when he speaks, but that it’s getting better. He will speak more soon.”

Eskel knew that was a weak lie, the mage clearly knew he wasn’t telling the truth, but a mean smile still cut his way trough his face.

“Oh, is that so?” He said in feign surprise. “That’s good then, I’ll inform the teachers at once that they should expect him to be responsive and talkative soon.” As he left Eskel felt cold sweat dripping down his back, he just hoped he hadn’t put Geralt into any trouble. A hand under the table found his knee and squeezed. He turned to find Geralt looking at him, an expression of gratitude in his eyes.

In the middle of the night, as everyone slept, Eskel could have sworn he had heard the faintest, most broken “thank you” coming from the boy laying beside him.

He smiled in the dark, holding Geralt closer.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter @PernillaWrites :) it makes me super happy and I post a lot of shorter fics there!


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